


It's Only Thursday

by smilingoceanlover



Category: The X-Files
Genre: An X-File Case, F/M, Humor, MSR, RST, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingoceanlover/pseuds/smilingoceanlover
Summary: Mulder and Scully.  A small town.  Inappropriate sexual happenings.  Set sometime during the SoSS, because it was the best.Written for the X-Files Easter Fanfic Exchange (2019) organized by OnlyTheInevitable.





	It's Only Thursday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScullyGolightly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyGolightly/gifts).



> Prompt: Mulder and Scully getting high together.

“Inhibitions, Scully.”

 

Mulder leapt out of his chair and flipped on the projector.  It was only 8:15am on a Wednesday, but he had been waiting for her impatiently.

 

“Good morning, Mulder,” Scully said.  She sat down carefully in the chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs and looking up at him.  She had not slept well, and she was tired.  But the excitement that could only mean a new X-File had Mulder keyed up more effectively than the two cups of coffee she had already consumed.

 

“It is a good morning, Scully.  But not for several of the upstanding citizens of Algood, Tennessee.”

 

“Algood, Tennessee?”

 

“Well, it was _all good_ until last week,” Mulder paused, waiting just long enough for Scully’s eyebrow to acknowledge his effort.  “The jokes write themselves, Scully!”

 

“It’s too early, Mulder, despite the fact that the level of caffeine in my blood stream should alarm a cardiologist.”

 

He held her gaze, and sighed.  “Telepathy, Scully.”

 

“What is?” asked Scully somewhat wearily as she broke their eye contact, and Mulder flashed a grin over his shoulder as he bent down over the projector.

 

“The cardiologist was the first victim.” With that, Mulder clicked to the first slide with a flourish.  A photograph of a middle aged, rather ordinary looking man filled the screen on the wall.  The man was wearing a white lab coat, with the words Jack Brooks, M.D. embroidered over the breast pocket.  It was clearly a professional portrait.  “Dr. Brooks, aged 54, a respected physician, well known, well liked.  Up until two weeks ago he owned a successful outpatient practice in Algood.  He was one of Algood’s more notable citizens.”

 

“He died?” asked Scully.

 

“No, no.  He’s alive.  But last week he gambled away nearly all of his liquid assets, and when those were gone he starting betting deeds to several properties, including his medical office building, and two car titles.  5 card stud.  He lost it all in just over 3 hours.  It took another 24 hours for his wife to file for divorce.”

 

“Since when is a gambling addiction an X-File, Mulder?”  Scully sighed, massaging her temples with her fingers.

 

“Dr. Brooks has never gambled in his life.  Never played cards either.  Which is pretty obvious given the fact he lost every hand.  When asked why he had engaged in an activity that resulted in the systematic and ill-advised divestiture of a large percentage of his material possessions, Dr. Brooks’ only explanation was that he couldn’t control of himself.  He says that he ‘just didn’t want to stop playing.’ And that it was the most exhilarating experience of his life,” Mulder paused.  “Thus, the divorce.”

 

Mulder clicked to the next slide.  A picture of a pretty woman filled the screen.  She appeared to be in her early 30s.  Mulder clicked to the next slide and the same woman appeared, this time as one of the subjects in a traditional family portrait.  In the photo, the young woman stood next to a handsome young man, clearly her husband, surrounded by 3 children.  Mulder continued: “Emily Jenkins.  33.  Happily married to successful attorney, Jeff, and stay-at-home mom to 3 children, ages 8, 6, and 4.  PTO president at Algood Elementary.  Well, she was president until last week, when she was immediately and rather unceremoniously, I might add, relieved of her PTO duties by a unanimous vote of the rest of the PTO members.”

 

“Why?” asked Scully.

 

“In what apparently was a time period of a little over 3 hours, Mrs. Jenkins singlehandedly set up a swingers club by advertising for participants online, and, just to be sure that the word was out, bought a print ad in the Algood Gazette.  Oh, and did I mention that the inaugural event was at her house?”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what her husband, Jeff, said, as well as the county child welfare officials, who, understandably, don’t think it’s a good idea for 3 young children to be living in the home.  Except that now Mrs. Jenkins says she has no idea why she wanted to become a swinger at all, and her apparent interest in the activity waned to zero shortly after the party really got started, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, the damage was done.  She claims she felt herself taken over by urges that were so powerful, she was unable to stop herself from trying to act on them.”

 

Mulder then clicked the projector again.  Another photograph.  This time of a lovely elderly woman.  “Widowed Beryl Stevens, 87 on her last birthday.  Born and raised in Algood.”

 

“What happened to her?”  Scully asked, admittedly more curious now.

 

“One week ago, she walked into Algood’s country dance bar at about 9pm, where she somehow managed to climb up onto the bar, and performed a strip tease.”

 

Scully looked at Mulder in poorly disguised shock.  Mulder continued with a chuckle, “It was apparently quite the show.  Or so say the dozens of patrons at Willy’s Western Bar & Grill.”

 

“Was she drunk?”

 

“Mrs. Stevens is 87 years old and a born again Christian since she was 50.  Hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in over 35 years.  She claims that she was at home, preparing for bed.  She remembers feeling hazy, but this feeling was overshadowed entirely by an all-consuming need, as she puts it, ‘to let it all hang out.’  She ultimately made it back home, courtesy of the sheriff’s department, with a fistful of dollar bills.  She remembers every detail of the event.”

 

“You’re making this up, Mulder!”  Scully had to stifle her urge to laugh.

 

“I swear, Scully.  I am _not_ making this up,” Mulder grinned.  “And the best part is that no one has died!  At least not yet.  I’m not going to have to ask you to perform any post-mortems.”

 

“I’ll admit that this has been one of your more entertaining slide slow presentations, but I’m not clear as to why any of these events are worthy of our investigation, Mulder.  People behave badly all the time.  Even 87 year old church ladies who swear on the Bible they aren’t drinking,” Scully said dryly.

 

“I know you’re going to be shocked to hear me say this, Scully, especially so early in the morning, but I think you’re wrong.  All of these people live in Algood, and all of these people, acted out in bizarre, completely uncharacteristic ways in public, on the same day last week, to their own obvious detriment, and for no apparent logical reason.  It’s like their inhibitions just failed them, Scully.”

 

“Inhibitions,” said Scully dubiously.

 

“Well, yeah!  Our inhibitions are the only thing stopping all of us from ‘behaving badly.’  All of these people describe the incidents as if their inhibitions had lowered almost entirely, or were somehow repressed, but only temporarily.  I think we need to find out why,” said Mulder.  He paused, and then added, “It could be a government experiment.  Maybe a biological weapon.  Unleashed on the unsuspecting townsfolk of Algood.”  Scully watched Mulder’s eyes slightly lose focus as his gaze drifted slowly upwards to a point somewhere above her head.  “What if it spreads.”

 

“Mulder, that would be…” Scully searched for the words, unsuccessfully, as she saw Mulder’s concentration return as he looked into her eyes.

 

“An X-File!”  Mulder exclaimed in victory.

 

Scully allowed him her enigmatic smile; the smile that was both simultaneously indulging and enjoying him.  His hazel eyes twinkled.  He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair, and swept to Scully’s side, reaching for her hand as she stood up.

 

“Algood, Tennessee,” Scully said with resignation, as she looked at him, feeling his fingers drop away from her own, and move purposely down and against the layers of fabric hiding the ouroboros tattooed on her lower back, as she took her first step toward the door.

 

“A town where the unheard of can happen,” Mulder grinned, following her.  His hand fell away only as he stopped to reach back to lock the office door.

 

***

 

Scully sat shotgun in the rented Taurus as they drove to Algood from the airport in Nashville, reviewing the witness statements that Mulder had obtained from the Algood sheriff’s office.  The fact that the cops took statements in the first place - even though not a single crime had been committed against any of the people that Mulder insisted were ‘victims’ - was something Scully had already pointed out as highly unusual.

 

“That’s how I got wind of it,” Mulder responded.  “The cops felt like they had to do _something_ , but they couldn’t charge anybody with anything.  Well, technically they could have booked Mrs. Stevens on public indecency, but that just would have been mean.”

 

“So they called the FBI?” Scully asked in disbelief.

 

“Not exactly.  Like you said, they didn’t think it was a criminal matter.”

 

“What kind of a matter do they think it is, Mulder,” Scully stated, and she held her breath, waiting for the inevitable confession.

 

“Someone at the sheriff’s office saw a newspaper article about that case we worked in Hollins, Virginia,” Mulder admitted somewhat sheepishly.  “I got a call.”

 

“Not the Weinsiders,” Scully’s hands covered her face.  “Oh my God, Mulder.”

 

“Relax, Scully.  I ruled out demon possession immediately.”

 

“Then I guess I should thank Him for this small, yet exquisitely tender mercy,” sighed Scully, glancing heavenward, as Mulder’s arm brushed against her forearm as he reached over to her lap to more easily read the map she had propped open across her knees.  “And how did you rule it out, pray tell?”

 

Mulder smiled and nodded with absolute confidence.  “Can’t be demons.  These people not only wanted to do the things they did, they thoroughly enjoyed every minute of their experiences.  Plus they remember everything, which largely negates the possibility that these individuals acted at the behest of an oppressive or possessive, malevolent preternatural being.”

 

The file re-reviewed, Scully sighed, and closed the case folder.  She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes.  “So, what’s the plan, Mulder.”

 

“I think we should start by re-interviewing all the victims.”

 

“They’re not victims, Mulder.”

 

“Willing participants, then.  See if we can find common connections.  Maybe a shared water source.  Public utility.  Who knows, maybe they all see the same _medical doctor_ ,” Mulder emphasized.

 

Scully opened her left eye just wide enough to grant him the side eye, and saw the sign “Welcome to Algood – Incorporated 1901.”  As they drove down the road, Algood appeared to be nearly indistinguishable from every other small American town they’d visited over the past six years in hopes of realizing Mulder’s dream of quantifying unexplained phenomena.  There was a gas station, supermarket, laundromat, liquor store, and a Taco Bell, all in desperate need of a facelift.  The square in the middle of town was home to the post office, court house, and city hall.  A white church spire was visible and rose into the sky above the trees.  A sign with the words “Algood Community Center” and an arrow pointing east stood next to a parking lot off of the square.  It was a beautiful, sunny day in early spring.  The trees were just beginning to flower, and the young leaves were that pale limey green that could only mean even warmer weather was on the way.

 

“Scully,” Mulder said gently, as he was pulling into a parking spot in front of the Algood sheriff’s department.  “We’re here.”  Although Scully could feel every hour that had passed since their day began starting to pound painfully behind her eyes, Mulder’s level of enthusiasm was apparently undampened since they met in the office that morning.  He opened the car door and exited the vehicle, not pausing to look back, as he headed through the front door.

 

Scully rubbed her own sore shoulders, and got out of the car reluctantly.  She felt the sun’s rays warm her skin as they hit the back of her black suit jacket.  She stuffed the X-File into her bag, and followed Mulder into the sheriff’s office.  As she opened the door, she saw Mulder, his back to her, already speaking to someone.  She walked in, and Mulder turned slightly to look at her as she saw him motion to the person with whom he was speaking.  Introductions were clearly being made.  It was at this point that Scully paused.  A feminist through and through, she silently berated herself for being taken by surprise as she found herself face to face not with small town sheriff Barney Fife, but one of Charlie’s Angels.  The woman was about her age, tall and slender, at least 5’9, with Jaclyn Smith dark hair and eyes.  She was beautiful in a gentle, unassuming way with soft features, minimal makeup and tasteful jewelry, wearing a black suit jacket, pencil skirt, and white blouse, just as she herself was wearing.

 

“This is my partner, Agent Scully,” she heard Mulder saying.

 

Scully shook the hand offered her.  “Melanie Mayes,” smiled the woman.  “I really can’t believe that Agent Mulder agreed to come down here to help us with our problem!”

 

Scully smiled, staring pointedly at Mulder.  “Well, Agent Mulder is well known at the Bureau for being a problem solver,” she said smiling, the sarcasm evident only to himself.

 

“Melanie is the public communications officer for the sheriff’s department,” offered Mulder, attempting to shift the conversation away from what was clearly dangerous territory.

 

“Well, like I’m sure Agent Mulder explained, the situations we’ve been dealing with aren’t what the sheriff’s department would typically get involved in,” said Melanie, rather apologetically.  “We just weren’t sure how to proceed, but we’re a very small town, and the community has been somewhat rattled by what’s happened to their neighbors, friends -- people they respect.  So after reading about the case you and Agent Mulder worked on, I thought, why not?”  Melanie looked at Mulder with a grin, at the same time subtly appraising him from head to foot.  “You’re not at all what I expected,” she added.

 

“What were you expecting, Ms. Mayes?” inserted Scully, as Mulder glanced her way.

 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure!” laughed Melanie, managing to look somewhat awkward, as if she knew she’d been called out.

 

Scully raised her eyebrow at her, silencing her laugh.  “Agent Mulder and I should get started re-interviewing the parties involved.  We need to be back in D.C. tomorrow night.”  Mulder shot Scully a look.  They weren’t due back in D.C. until at least Friday.

 

“Of course!  Here are the names and addresses.”  Melanie handed Mulder a typewritten sheet of paper with a map.  “We did let them know that we contacted the FBI.  We explained that there are no charges being considered, but that you were hoping to get to the bottom of whatever it is that happened.  As you can imagine, these folks want nothing more than an explanation, if only so that they can try to put their lives back together, not to mention salvage their reputations here in Algood.  Honestly, I think all three of them are just completely embarrassed,” added Melanie, coloring slightly.

 

“Totally understandable, Ms. Mayes,” said Mulder earnestly, staring at her, which only heightened the color brightening her cheeks.

 

Scully cleared her throat and placed her hand on Mulder’s forearm.  “Mulder?”  Her touch broke in on the shared look between Mulder and Melanie, and she added, “Thank you, Ms. Mayes.  We’ll let you know how our investigation progresses.”

 

“I’ll give you a call,” added Mulder.  “I’ve got your number.”

 

Back in the car, Scully turned to Mulder immediately and said: “Really, Mulder?  That’s why we’re here?”

 

“Scully…” Mulder said, almost wearily.  After all, they’d been here before.  Mulder sighed inwardly to himself, making a mental note to add this exchange to the list of experiences he was compiling for his research paper on déjà vu that he intended to submit to CalTech. 

 

“Why is that you can’t be honest with me about why you took this case?”  Scully’s question was more of a statement.

 

“You know, Scully…” and Mulder’s voice faded.  His thoughts negotiated between themselves for only a moment.  “You’re right.”

 

Scully paused, having rehearsed her comeback for the last several minutes.  “Because… I am?”

 

“Yes, Scully.  I should have told you from the beginning that the call I got from the sheriff’s office was actually from a civilian employee, that she expressed interest in my work and the paranormal, and that she made the case sound intriguing.”

 

“And that she’s beautiful,” Scully supplied.

 

Mulder was sorry to hear no trace of sarcasm is her voice.  “Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, Scully.”  Mulder looked at her and rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated way possible.  “I didn’t know what she looked like.”

 

“But you admit she’s beautiful.”

 

Mulder ignored this, and started the engine.  He then reached into Scully’s lap for the paperwork Melanie had handed her.  His right wrist lingered on her upper thigh as he held the paper to read the first address before flipping to the map.  Scully felt the warmth of his touch, and pushed the feeling away at the same time she crossed her legs so that Mulder had to move his hand to keep it from being trapped between them.  “Let’s start with the swinger.”

 

***

 

“We certainly don’t want to embarrass you, Mrs. Jenkins,” Scully said gently, as she leaned forward in her chair.

 

“I, I appreciate it,” Emily Jenkins stammered, blushing furiously and avoiding all eye contact with Mulder as she glanced up and down between Scully’s face and her own hands, which were twisting over and over again in her lap.

 

Mulder and Scully sat in the Jenkins’ living room.  The home was spacious, well-furnished and decorated.  A tub of toys could be seen tucked away in a corner with a child’s art easel nearby.  The home appeared to be a testament to Emily Jenkins’ dedication to her responsibilities as an attorney’s wife, and mother to her young brood.  The house was also quiet, a fact that had been pointed out by Emily herself within the first three minutes of Mulder and Scully’s arrival, her eyes filling with tears as she told them that her first supervised visitation with her children and the county social worker was scheduled for the next day.

 

“Mrs. Jenkins… Emily…  do you remember what prompted you to…” Mulder paused, catching Scully’s eyes that widened with warning that he needed to be tactful.  “Go online that day?”

 

“I just…” she seemed to shudder in pain at the words.  “At the time, it just seemed like the only thing that I wanted to do.”

 

“But you had never … engaged… in activity like this before?” prodded Scully quietly.

 

“Never!” said Mrs. Jenkins, blushing furiously and clearly shocked at the question.

 

“Before you may have met your husband?”  Mulder prodded.

 

Emily shook her head stubbornly, biting her lip, her face awash in the brightest of reds now.

 

“Have you been having any … marital problems,” Scully asked.

 

Emily shook her head vigorously.  “None whatsoever,” she paused, as her eyes filled with tears, “at least, not until now.”

 

“Had you ever met any of the people who came to the … event?”  Mulder asked.

 

With that, Emily noticeably hesitated.  “Well, just one.  The pool maintenance worker.”

 

“The pool boy?” Mulder blurted out in poorly disguised amazement, as Scully’s forehead dropped into her hand.

 

Mrs. Jenkins stammered to answer, “Yeah… yes.  Caden.  Caden Young.”

 

“Has he worked for you long, Mrs. Jenkins?” asked Mulder, making a valiant effort to recover as Scully looked at him.

 

“Just since last summer.  But the pool… you know, we don’t use it in the fall and winter.”

 

“Of course, Emily,” Scully soothed.  “Did you know Mr. Young well?”

 

“No, no, not really.  He was just here once a week for an hour.  To, to clean the pool,” and she blushed again.

 

“Did anything … unusual… happen beforehand?” Mulder pressed.  “For example, did you notice any strange lights, sounds, or smells?  Did anyone come to the house that you weren’t expecting earlier in the day?  Anything that might have been out of the usual routine that might explain why you had this feeling come over you?”  Mulder then lowered his voice, and added pointedly, “Have you had any issues recently with your public utilities?”  With that, Scully looked at the ceiling.  Mulder shrugged at her.

 

“No… nothing unusual.  I dropped my youngest at Mother’s Day Out, picked up the dry cleaning, stopped at church to drop off a quilt for the Spring Fling, and came back to the house.  I did my usual housework.  I was just waiting for the kids to get off the bus, when I just … well, I couldn’t control myself.  I can’t… I’m sorry,” and Emily Jenkins began crying again in earnest.

 

“When you felt that you couldn’t control yourself, Mrs. Jenkins, did you try?”  Mulder asked.

 

Emily stiffened.  “What do you mean.”

 

“Did you try to control yourself,” Mulder clarified.

 

Emily looked at Scully almost desperately.  “I … I…”

 

“Agent Scully and I are not here to judge you, Mrs. Jenkins,” Mulder said, seriously.

 

With that, Emily looked at Mulder full in the face for the very first time.  “I’ve gone over it in my mind so many times, Agent Mulder,” gasped Emily.  “I’m so ashamed.  I feel like God will never forgive me.  My children… they’re never going to let them come home if they knew.”

 

“Knew what, Emily?” asked Scully sincerely.

 

“That I didn’t try to stop myself.  I didn’t _want_ to stop.  I just wanted… I wanted to be free.”

 

***

 

Mulder and Scully walked down the driveway to their car, parked on the street.

 

“This isn’t an X-File, Mulder.”

 

“And on what scientific basis have you formed that opinion, Scully?”

 

“My knowledge of human biology.  Emily Jenkins is the quintessential suburban housewife cliché, Mulder.  She’s trapped in her marriage, and she has a thing for the pool boy.”

 

Mulder stopped to look at Scully across the roof of the car as he unlocked the doors, feigning confusion.  “A thing?  Just what exactly are you suggesting?”

 

Scully gave him a look and got in the car.  As they settled in and began fastening their seatbelts, Scully said, “I’m _suggesting_ that Emily wants Caden to help her maintain more than just the pool.”

 

Mulder grinned as his eyebrows shot upward, as if shocked that such thoughts would enter Scully’s head.  “So explain to me why a woman as repressed as Emily Jenkins, decided all of a sudden, one random spring day, to grab the proverbial pump with both hands?”

 

“I don’t know, Mulder.  Maybe she suffered a psychotic episode.  Maybe she was drinking.  Maybe she’s snorting her daughter’s Adderall.  All I know is, it’s not an X-File,” said Scully, decidedly.  “She’s a woman.  A woman whose needs are not being met by her husband.  Maybe she just couldn’t take it anymore.”

 

***

 

Scully convinced Mulder to call it quits for the day.  They hit a drive thru, and were finally walking toward their motel rooms.  Fortunately, the Algood City Center Resort & RV Park offered Color TV/HBO, Jacuzzi Tubs, and Clean Comfortable Rooms.

 

Mulder stopped outside of Room 37, and unlocked the door.  He ushered Scully inside, chivalrously lifting her overnight bag onto the bench under the window.  Scully handed him one of the two paper sacks she had been carrying, and one of two drinks.

 

“Good night, Mulder,” she sighed.

 

“Scully, it’s only 7pm.”

 

“Exactly, and I’ve been awake since 6:30am and 8 states ago,” Scully said firmly.  “I didn’t sleep well last night.  I’ve been tired all day.  I’m sure you can figure out something to do.  They have HBO,” and she pointed at the neon sign blinking across the courtyard.

 

“Don’t you want to talk about the case?”

 

“It’s not a case, Mulder,” sighed Scully.  She added, “It’s sexual frustration,” as she shrugged out of her suit jacket and pulled her holstered weapon off of her hip, laying them on top of the bench next to her suitcase.

 

“See, we do agree on something,” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he reached over to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.  He then rapidly backed outside the door as Scully stared him down.

 

The phone in his pocket started ringing.  “Mulder,” a pause.  “Yes, yeah, oh hi, Melanie,” he continued, staring at Scully.  “No, no real progress so far…”

 

“Good night, Mulder,” and Scully snapped the door shut with a click.  Mulder heard the deadbolt turn and the slide of the chain.  He sighed, and stared up at the darkening sky, the phone to his ear as Melanie’s voice chattered away on the other end of the line.  It was Wednesday night in Algood, Tennessee.  Not unlike a Wednesday night anywhere else with Scully as his partner.  He grabbed the handle of his bag and started walking down the sidewalk to Room 47.   He was then startled out of his reverie with “Hello?  Hello?  Agent Mulder?”

 

“Hey, hi, sorry, I… listen, no, I appreciate the offer.  Agent Scully and I need to get started first thing in the morning.”  The conversation ended shortly thereafter.  He shook his head with wry amusement.

 

First, a 10 mile run.  Then, a shower.  Then he’d reheat the already congealing hamburger and fries.

 

When he finally laid down at midnight in front of HBO, he fell asleep almost immediately.  Mulder was sleeping well these days.

 

***

 

Thursday had dawned and promised another lovely day.  Mulder knocked on Scully’s door at 8:30am.  He heard the deadbolt and chain reverse their movements of the night before.  Scully opened the door, her appearance, as always, flawlessly professional.  FBI Approved.  “Coffee, Mulder.  Don’t say another word.”

 

“You got it, Scully.”

 

Mulder soon pulled in to the gas station.  He left the car running and was back in less than 5 minutes with her coffee -- half and half, no sugar.

 

Scully sipped gratefully, “Thanks, Mulder.”

 

“You didn’t sleep well again, Scully.”

 

“No.  No, I didn’t, Mulder,” she sighed, looking away from him outside her window.  “Did you… see Melanie last night?  Not that it’s any of my business.  It was Wednesday,” she added thoughtfully.

 

Mulder reached over and barely grazed the underside of Scully’s chin.  It was a soft, intimate gesture.  She looked at him, almost surprised.  He stared at her and answered quietly, “I did 10 miles.”

 

“Well, like I said, it was Wednesday,” Scully said, licking her bottom lip in that way that Mulder knew meant nervousness and relief.

 

“Yes, Scully.  It was Wednesday,” he breathed.  “So I did 10 miles.”

 

***

 

It was noon, and Mulder and Scully were driving away from their third and final victim/witness interview.

 

“So Dr. Brooks started gambling that night because he wanted to spend time with the dealer,” nodded Scully.  “What did he say her name was?”

 

“He didn’t,” answered Mulder.  “I think that’s what happened.  He couldn’t figure out how to ask for her name and number so he kept playing.”

 

“And he’d never seen her before,” puzzled Scully.  “That’s weird.”

 

“He’s a man, Scully.  He saw something he liked.”

 

“And it all started because the conference he was attending was at the casino… and he walked past the tables on his way to the exhibit hall,” read Scully from her notes.

 

“I’m telling you, Scully.  Dr. Brooks, poor Mrs. Stevens, Emily Jenkins… they lost their inhibitions.  Like you said yesterday, human biology.”

 

“You keep saying that, Mulder, but it just doesn’t work that way.  Inhibition is a biological imperative.  Neurologists and psychologists all agree that the prefrontal cortex of our brain is hard wired to inhibit destructive behavior – not only as a survival mechanism, but from a purely psychological standpoint it’s one of the most important means to protect our psyche from emotional pain, embarrassment or societal rejection.  Inhibitions are both innate and learned –  learned ones develop in response to cultural norms.  Without inhibitions, there’d be nothing stopping you from clubbing the next attractive woman you see over the head and dragging her back to your cave,” she added dryly.

 

“And yet… here you are, trapped in a car with me in Algood, Tennessee,” Mulder stared straight ahead out the windshield.

 

Scully’s mouth opened, the retort failing her.  Her mouth closed again, the half of her face facing away from him upturning into a grin.

 

“Inhibitions can be repressed, Scully,” Mulder continued, as if there had been no interruption.

 

“Exactly my point, Mulder, but with substances.  Alcohol and certain drugs affect neurotransmitters in the brain, primarily glutamate and gamma-aminobutyric acid which are responsible for regulating inhibitory control in humans.  We know that certain depressants, like alcohol for example, can have a nearly immediate effect on these particular neurotransmitters.”

 

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, and Scully immediately cut him off.  “I know what you’re going to say, Mulder, but it’s just not possible for someone’s inhibitions – innate or learned – to just ‘fail’ or somehow repress themselves.  To override inhibitions would require conscious decisions and actions on the part of the individual, unless the brain chemistry has been altered.  And Dr. Brooks admits he was drinking.”

 

“Two glasses of wine over three hours, Scully.”

 

“Maybe he’s got some kind of metabolic disorder, or he’s missing an enzyme, as a result of which he’d suffer acute intoxication with only a small amount of alcohol.”

 

“Well, what about Mrs. Stevens then?  You cannot possibly tell me that sweet little lady got drunk, alone.  And she’s not snorting any Adderall.”

 

“I don’t know, Mulder… but she admitted she was a burlesque dancer during WWII,”  Scully laughed.  “Bet you weren’t expecting her to admit that.  She thought you were _handsome_ ,” drawled Scully with an exaggerated Southern accent.

 

Mulder’s hands left the wheel in mock surrender.  He then added, “And Mrs. Stevens hasn’t performed in over 50 years, Scully.”

 

“She could have an undiagnosed frontal lobe dementia.  Lewy Body disease.  Any number of neurocognitive disorders cause symptoms such as delusions, hypersexuality, loss of inhibitory control.  And in the elderly living alone, symptoms can go unnoticed for years, gradually worsening until an acute incident occurs.  Getting lost, confused, disoriented… it’s called sundowning,” Scully paused for breath.

 

“Stripping in front of a bunch of inebriated 20 somethings on top of a bar would qualify as sundowning?” interjected Mulder, incredulously.

 

“Stranger things have happened, Mulder.  When I was in medical school, I treated a 90 year old geriatric patient who would fall pretending her knee went out so she could try to go down on the male residents.”  Mulder looked at Scully, who stared back seriously without blinking, and continued: “As soon as she opened her mouth her dentures would fall out.”

 

Mulder laughed out loud.

 

“The only connection, Mulder, is that they were all at church earlier in the day… Mrs. Jenkins dropped something off for a charity auction, Mrs. Stevens did some volunteer work, and Dr. Brooks had a meeting with the Women’s League President to schedule a CPR training class,” she paused, and added dramatically.  “Maybe the sacramental wine has been tampered with.”

 

“I already considered that, Scully,” Mulder said seriously, and she looked over to stare at him in disbelief.  “What?  If it had been some kind of religious offering, more than just three people would have been affected.  Besides, they flipped out last Friday, not Sunday.”

 

***

 

Mulder parked the car at the curb in front of the church.  Scully followed him out of the car to stand beside him on the sidewalk as they studied the building before them.

 

It was the picturesque, classic, white structure with the sweeping front lawn that could be the establishing shot in every Hallmark movie that had ever featured a church wedding.  A large cross was mounted on the façade.  A fixed sign proclaimed “Algood Community Church” in the middle of the lawn.  The center of the sign was for interchangeable words.  It now read “FIND YOUR WAY HOME” above a list of worship meeting days and times.   Several smaller colored signs decorated the border advertising ALGOOD ANNUAL SPRING FLING – SATURDAY 11am-3pm.   CHARITY AUCTION! BAKE SALE! FAMILY FUN! ALL WELCOME!

 

Mulder and Scully walked into the vestibule at the front of the church, and into the middle of a bustle of activity.  Over 20 different people could be seen walking and working up and down the long, wide hallway that appeared to form the perimeter of the inside of the building.  A large chapel could be seen through the windows of another set of double doors on the opposite wall.  People were arranging flowers, tying balloons, and taping streamers.  At that moment, two men were standing at the top of stepladders hoisting a banner that proclaimed “ALGOOD SPRING FLING” and were attempting to tie it into place over the walkway.  Others were carrying various boxes and bags back and forth between other rooms further down the hallway.  A kind-looking older woman noticed them.

 

“May I help you?” she asked, smiling brightly.

 

“Yes, hello, I’m Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Agent Fox Mulder,” and she politely showed the woman her badge.

 

“The FBI?” the woman asked, surprised.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Scully, almost apologetically.  “We’re in town investigating some recent… events… that have involved some of the church members.”

 

“Oh, that,” said the woman, understanding immediately dawning on her face.  “Hello, I’m Esther Ralsty.  I’m the president of the Women’s League.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Ralsty,” said Mulder, as Scully shook her proffered hand.

 

“I’ve known Beryl Stevens for over 40 years.  And Emily for over 10.  Dr. Brooks took care of my husband before he died,” said Esther, lowering her voice.  “No one was more shocked than I was when I heard what happened.  In fact, I saw all three of them the day that everything … ” as her voice dropped away.

 

“And that’s why we’re here, Ms. Ralsty,“ said Mulder.  “The only connection that we’ve been able to uncover thus far between Ms. Jenkins, Ms. Stevens, and Dr. Brooks, is that they all attend church here, and had been here on the day that they experienced… their experiences,” he added, lamely, as he saw Scully begging him with her eyes not to further embarrass poor Ms. Ralsty who was, literally, clutching the pearl necklace she was wearing around her neck.  “We were just hoping to look around.  And ask if someone might know of anything else unusual that may have happened recently… either in, or around, the church building itself, or maybe to other church goers.”

 

“Unusual?” asked Ms. Ralsty, growing alarmed.

 

“Just anything out of the ordinary,” soothed Scully.  “But that might not have even seemed unusual at the time.”

 

“Were there any people you didn’t recognize visiting the church that day, or in the days before?  Maybe we could we speak with someone in charge of building maintenance that might be able to tell us if there have been any changes to the contractors you use for janitorial services, landscaping, electrical work?” asked Mulder.

 

“Not that I’m aware of,” said Esther, nervously, “but I think you definitely need to speak with our minister, John Paul.  He ran out to the hardware store… we needed a couple more extension cords.  We’re setting up for the Spring Fling,” stating the obvious, as she gestured to the activity going on around them.

 

“John Paul?” asked Scully, politely.

 

“I know, right?  With a name like that there really wasn’t much he could have done but become a minister!” laughed Esther.  “He should be back soon.  Come with me,” and she motioned Mulder and Scully to follow her down the hallway.

 

They walked around the corner and followed Esther into a large kitchen with stacks of baked goods in various containers.  Several volunteers were busily writing labels and prices on tags and attaching them to the items.  Chocolate chip cookies – $2.00; Lemon meringue pie - $8.00; Whole wheat bread - $4.00.

 

“All of these items have been donated for the bake sale on Saturday, but here,” and Esther pressed a bag with a huge, oversized chocolate chip cookie that was at least 6” wide, into Mulder’s hand.  “My nephew made these.  He’s a better baker than me for sure.”

 

Mulder smiled and reached into his pocket.

 

“No, no, Agent.  This one is on the house,” she whispered, conspiratorially.  “I make sure all of my friends get one before they leave.”

 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Esther,” said Scully graciously.

 

“Why don’t you go sit in the chapel while you wait for John Paul,” and she handed Scully two bottles of water, and a handful of paper towels.  “That’s really the only place you won’t be in anyone’s way,” she explained.

 

As Scully followed her out of the kitchen, she turned back and saw Mulder surreptitiously slide a couple of dollars in cash onto the counter.  He shrugged, “What?  It just feels wrong to skim off the top of a church bake sale.”

 

Scully laughed, and headed back toward the church entrance.  She then pushed open the doors leading into the chapel.  Mulder stepped inside after her, and the doors slowly and softly closed behind them.  The chapel was large, with a 25 foot ceiling.  It was clearly capable of seating at least 150 people comfortably, with two sections of wooden pews leading to the front, divided by a large center aisle.  At the front of the room was a raised platform, on which a podium and a piano stood.  A large sculpture of a cross, at least 15 feet high, stood on the middle of the platform against the back wall.  Scully walked up the aisle and slid into a pew.  She then edged all the way to the end, against the wall.

 

She dropped onto the bench with relief, as Mulder followed and sat down next to her.  “This is peaceful,” she whispered.  She then pointedly stared at the cookie he was holding.

 

Mulder grinned and split the cookie in half, handing her one of the pieces.  Scully traded him for a paper towel and turned the top of one of the bottles of water with a series of satisfying snaps as the plastic perforations split apart.  She took a drink, set the bottle between them, and took a bite of the cookie.

 

“Mmmm, Esther isn’t kidding.  Her nephew does have some talent,” Scully said as she chewed.

 

Mulder took a bite.  “It’s warm,” he commented.

 

Scully said, “It must have just come out of the oven.”

 

“I guess so,” added Mulder, as he quickly polished off his half in about five bites.  He then swallowed the entire bottle of water, and opened the second bottle.

 

“Save some for me, Mulder,” complained Scully, as she deliberately savored small bites.

 

They lapsed into comfortable silence.  The distant sound of cars could be heard on the main road beyond the back wall of the chapel.  They also heard muffled voices, hammers tapping, laughter, and footsteps – the noises filtered by the sanctuary doors.  Scully felt herself wanting to close her eyes.  She enjoyed the calm she always felt when in a church.  She leaned back against the wall and sighed.

 

Scully was unaware of how much, or if any, time had passed when her eyes flew open to the unmistakable sensation of Mulder’s fingers, inching up her thigh.

 

“Mulder?” she asked, and she felt suddenly awake, but utterly relaxed at the same time.

 

Mulder’s face was inches from her own.  His hazel eyes a dark green now, staring deeply into her blues.  Scully gasped softly.

 

“Scully,” he whispered.  His left hand resting fully on her right thigh now, as he fingered the hem of her skirt.  His hand warm with intention.

 

In that same moment, Scully became acutely aware of her heartbeat quickening and her blood pressure rising.  And then, she heard herself giggle.  “Mulder!” and then another burst of giggles.  Scully was conscious of how silly it was that she was giggling, hearing the sound echoing through the cavernous space of the empty chapel.  Somehow that thought ended as quickly as it began.

 

“Hmmmm…” Mulder responded, as he moved closer to her on the pew.

 

“Mulder, stop it,” she giggled again, realizing that she sounded far less like her adult self than the school girl of 30 plus years ago, who had bet her friends a lollipop that she could make a boy kiss her out in the playground back behind the swings.

 

“You don’t want me to stop,” Mulder said quietly.  His fingers were all the way under her skirt now.

 

The neurons in Scully’s brain fired again.  There was something wrong.  It was just out of her grasp.  “I don’t want you to stop,” she agreed, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

 

Mulder closed the remaining space between their faces as his cheek brushed hers and he breathed next to her ear.  “Don’t ask me to stop.”

 

Scully could hear voices in the distance.  A distraction.  Other people shouldn’t be here.  “Mulder, you know we have rules,” and she giggled again as she felt his other hand rest on her left hip, and then move up to her breast, which he began rubbing sensuously and deliberately with his thumb.

 

Mulder growled quietly in her ear, “Your rules are stupid.”

 

“They’re not _my_ rules, they’re _our_ rules, Mulder,” Scully said reproachfully, pulling back slightly.  “We agreed… only on Fridays and Saturdays, and only if we’re free…” she paused, and the space between her eyebrows began to crinkle in concentration.  “But right now, I can’t remember why,” as she reached up to hold the hand teasing her breast.  “No scheduling, no commitments.”

 

“Something about boundaries,” said Mulder.  He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it.

 

“Yes, Mulder!” agreed Scully enthusiastically, suddenly remembering.  “Boundaries are important,” she added, completely failing in her effort to be serious, and wanting to laugh out loud again.

 

“Boundaries get in my way,” retorted Mulder, his entire hand under Scully’s skirt; the path his fingers had been diligently following barred by warm, dampening material.  He groaned, frustration and arousal battling to the forefront of his emotions; his other hand leaving her chest, rising up to her neck, and then moving behind her ear to tangle in her hair.

 

Scully rested her cheek against Mulder’s, as she reveled in the feel of his 24 hour shadow, rough against her smooth skin.  God, she loved when he skipped his shave.  She reached one hand between them.  “Hmmm, boundaries,” as her knuckles brushed against the leather of his belt buckle while the palm of her hand ground into his rock hard erection.

 

“It’s Algood, Scully,” Mulder murmured, tilting his pelvis up against her hand.

 

“Obviously,” giggled Scully, and she sighed, as Mulder’s hand massaged her scalp through her hair, while the other was pulling insistently at the waistband of her sensible white cotton underwear.

 

“I mean, it’s _Algood_ ,” hummed Mulder, suddenly desperate for her understand.  “Something about this place, Scully.  I think it’s happening to us too.”  But then the train of his thought derailed again.

 

“Mulder, this church is true.  You did find your way home.  _Thank God,”_ Scully whispered fervently, like a prayer, as Mulder had finally maneuvered his way around elastic edges, his fingers now caressing her aching, soft flesh.

 

Mulder chuckled, “And it’s only Thursday.”

 

“Thursday?” Scully panted, as Mulder began slowly and steadily working her up, with his patient, assured fingers – fingers that had been formed perfectly to do this to her.

 

“In the middle of the day,” exhaled Mulder in a whisper.  “Why don’t you let me do this on Thursdays, Scully.  How about Wednesdays.  In the middle of the day.  You’d sleep better at night… wouldn’t be so tired all the time…”

 

And Scully remembered again.  They work on Thursdays.  They don’t touch when they’re working.  Only on Friday nights after work.  Before they order take out.  And then after take out.  And all day on Saturdays.  Time is measured now by the days and the moments that Mulder touches her.  She doesn’t sleep well alone anymore.  Boundaries.  “Shut up,” she said aloud, more to herself than to Mulder.  Her thoughts tracked again, “Mulder, I think… I … I…” she babbled.

 

“I got you, Scully,” Mulder assented, urging her on in that low whisper that only she will ever hear.

 

“No… Mulder… I mean, yes, I mean, oh God…” as she tried desperately to capture her fleeting thoughts and put them into some kind of logical order.  “I think … I’m… I’m … sooooooo high right now,” and she started giggling again, unable to stop herself.  “I haven’t been this high since med school...”

 

“Higher than kites, Scully,” Mulder agreed, and then, he too started laughing.  “I want to be high with you all the time.  How about next Wednesday.”

 

And with that, Mulder closed in, his mouth over hers, as Scully yielded immediately to his lips and his tongue, his skills perfected over the hours, days, weeks that he has been kissing, tasting, loving her.  Her hands came together at his waist, rapidly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly to reciprocate steady strokes, featherlike whispers, long exhales.

 

The sounds of voices again.  Louder this time.  Scully felt herself floating.  She tried to reorient herself using the pattern of the stars appearing behind her eyes as her release began to form, only just out of reach now.  Her eyes fluttered. The woman they had met earlier walked into the chapel.   From the sheriff’s office.  The X-File.  Inhibitions.  Mulder.

 

“Mulder,” she whispered.  “The woman from the sheriff’s office.  The pretty one,” and she wanted to laugh again, emboldened, empowered.  Let her see.  Watch how Mulder makes her feel.

 

Mulder chuckled under his breath again. “You really don’t get it, do you, Scully,” he murmured, retaking her lips with his, as his hand continued to offer sacrifices before the only altar that had ever brought him to his knees.  He pulled his face away from hers again, and he stared into the bluest of her blue eyes, his voice low and graveled, “When all my defenses are down… “ and his tongue extended into the open space between them to lick her top lip, following along the edge of its gentle curve; “when I’m stripped to the bone,” his tongue now sliding across her bottom lip; “the only thing I want to do… that I can think about … is seducing you.”  And he brought his lips fully against hers again, before sliding his tongue between them, claiming her mouth in one smooth, fluid motion.

 

The steady rhythm of her hand around his length faltered as he felt her begin to contract around his fingers.  He stilled for only an instant as he rasped into her mouth, _“Seducing you, and only you…”_ and then the pads of his fingers reapplied their pressure, _“completely.”_

Scully’s eyes widened and her head fell back, as the crescendo of sound reverberated through the chapel.  As she fell forward into Mulder’s chest, she saw Melanie Mayes, two sheriff’s officers, Ms. Ralsty, and an elderly man wearing a clerical collar, all standing in the aisle, and all wearing identical expressions of disbelief as they witnessed Scully loudly and thoroughly praising God in all of His glory.

 

***

 

“It just happened that the cops pulled the kid over.  His back seat was loaded with cookies and brownies, which seemed a little odd, but it wasn’t until he agreed to let them look in the trunk that they found the drugs.  And in the end, we were able to bust the entire growing operation, sir,” said Scully.

 

“The church lady,” Skinner sat back in his chair, staring at Mulder and Scully across his desk.

 

“Technically, her nephew, sir,” said Scully.  “He had been harvesting it and baking it into various products.  Based on the results of the investigation, it was purely accidental that certain items made their way to the church.  The church lady didn’t realize which batches she was pulling from.”

 

“Which were consumed by some of the church members…and then by the two of you,” said Skinner pointedly.

 

“Well, I’ve always believed God works in mysterious ways,” said Mulder piously, as Scully stared straight ahead, and Skinner clenched his jaw.

 

“The toxicology reports are all there, sir,” said Scully.

 

“As a result of which, the two of you are going to be subjected to a mandatory drug test every two weeks for the next six months,” said Skinner.

 

“What!?” exclaimed Mulder, as Scully looked on impassively.

 

“What did you expect, Agent Mulder,” snapped Skinner.  “The two of you got busted by the local cops, rounding third base, _in the middle of a church_ , laughing your asses off when you got caught, completely stoned out of your God damn minds.”

 

Scully blinked slowly, licked her lips, and looked down into her lap, while Mulder uncrossed and re-crossed his legs.

 

“Not to mention the fact that fraternization is against Bureau policy,” said Skinner.

 

Mulder smirked to himself, rearranging his expression quickly as Skinner glared at him, and Scully responded, “We are aware of the policy, sir.  I can only assure you that Agent Mulder and I have never engaged in …”

 

“Save it for Sunday confession, Agent Scully,” as Skinner snapped the file closed.  “It’s not like the two of you don’t embarrass me and the Justice Department every other week, but I had to add a paragraph to my disciplinary report regarding your actions on this case that directly addressed this headline,” as he shoved the Algood Gazette to the front of his desk.  The headline “IN GOD SHE TRUSTS” was printed above a picture of Mulder and Scully laughing at each other hysterically in front of Algood Community Church, surrounded by police, paramedics, and concerned church goers.  The byline read: “FBI agents witnessed culminating investigation in Algood house of worship.”

 

Skinner stood, signaling their meeting was at an end.

 

Mulder and Scully rose from their seats, studiously avoiding eye contact with each other, and carefully moving further apart.  Mulder opened the office door, dipping his head slightly, “Allow me, Agent Scully.”  As she passed, Mulder continued seriously, “Ladies first.”  He then ducked his face to her ear and added in a whisper, “Thank God it’s Friday.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> True confessions: I have never worked from a prompt before! As nervous as I was, I ended up absolutely and thoroughly enjoying the experience of writing this for you, ScullyGolightly! I'd like to thank my beta @iamherr for her encouragement, not just to keep writing, but to openly fantasize about David Duchovny as frequently and thoroughly as possible.


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